Me and mine had our fill of HIS ****** royal Lip,
And racist, sexist philandering entitlement.

When setbacks happen,
I get on with life.
If I didn't make the cut,
I moved on;
Sometimes continuing along the same path,
With renewed determination;
Or, find a road less travelled.

                                       I crossed the parquet tiles,
                                       Before a thousand eyes;
                                       She gave a polite rejection,
                                       Her friend took great exception,
                                       Before taking my hand in her's.

There were numerous interviews,
When we two weren't the right fit.
I would move on,
Finally finding my hand and your glove were one.
There are no options, but to move on.

Then we got on.

Then she got on.

Then I got on...

Get on with your life

No problem.
Now, if I can only get along
With my life.

If you're an agricultural enthusiast,
Or gifted tower dwelling urbanite,
I know a priest who’ll bless your cockerel, favorite cow,
pig, sheep (with a predilection for lambs), tractor and
two-seater outhouse,
(I once saw a priest bless Farmer Paul’s load of manure).
He’ll lift a hand over
dog, cat, gerbil, cockatoo,
Foster children, adoptees, naturals and the unnatural.

They will bless people in love;
they will bless their love;
But not the union born from their love.

All love, he will say,
Is Divine.

God does not bless sin, said Papa.

Tsk, tsk... it's only a blessing, for Christ's sake.

Cult lickers are exclusive.
They're not black or brown,
But Greene with envy, marginalized at every turn.
They paid up for a briny Cruz, but came away infected.
They don't shut-up Gaetz, so the sheeple meekly escape.
They claim to be God-fearin', but they'll never cross the Jordan.
Like Graham crackers, they are dry, spineless wankers.
And if you've a limp Johnson, keep a stiff upper lip.

My mind feels like a graveyard of trees.
Every fruit of confidence I bear
withers away into a thing of
self doubt.

And because it is the only fruit I know,
I indulge myself in eating it,

And because you are what you eat,
I too, eventually wither away.

So many human beings
Falling through the cracks of society
Parts of every generation
Simply lost
And as the cracks grow wider
More and more fall through
Falling into despair
They exist
Lost from the rest

And within their lives
They have little of anything
As others seem to have it all
Naturally they grow restless
Believing nothing will change
And the younger angrier ones
Become faithless and lawless
Becoming darkly feral
So many human beings
Lost

                          By Phil Roberts

Folder: When the going gets tough
Oh drama please just *******!

i DONT KNOW HOW YOU FIND ME

i DONT CARE.

I would very much like for conflict to resolve

but in my sphere always seem to revolve.

I turn my back on you, though its only a temporary measure

because you are not one to be denied your pleasure.

you sick stalker **** mistress of distress and bad luck,

you come in guns blazing

and you catch me unawares

you call out jealousy

pride

and mis understanding

a gulity line up in this dramatic parade

but its you I most revere when you are giving someone else a hell of a year,

I am officially breaking up with you.

dont try to find me

I am passionately in love with compassion

and I will die rather than leave this heaven.

thankyou for being my depth stick

I would never have seen how beautiful my new love is

if it wasnt for all your selfish darkness.

kind regards

SS